


Retrieval of Lost Things

by Hopetohell



Category: Bad Times at the El Royale (2018)
Genre: Branding, Creampie, Knifeplay, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut, abuse of bird metaphors, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28894293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: Billy Lee comes to take back what’s his.
Relationships: Billy Lee/reader, billy lee/you
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Retrieval of Lost Things

When he comes for you, it’s raining because even the weather seems to bend to Billy Lee’s whims. He is cruel and cold and the rain sluices over him like a lover’s hand. And he is soaked to the skin, clothes gone heavy with wet; he is fierce and he is terrifying and he has come to claim what is his.

( _Oh, sweet thing. Little bird. You thought you could fly away, but I saw you. I saw you through the window with your dirty little fingers in your cunt; I heard you call my name, sweetness; I heard you begging me for what you need_ )

And he is not here to play; he is not here to impart lessons by firelight, arguments and allegories that end up with bloody noses and bodies twisting deep in the sheets. There is no generosity left in him, not today; it’s all been used up in the chase, in the long trek from there to here. He will close his hand so gently around your wrist, and then he will close it more and more until your fine bones grind together and it makes you cry. 

There is no kindness here, no quarter; there is only this:

 _Say no, be stubborn, and I will cast you out. You will be cold, and alone, and I will wash my hands of you. (I will kill you when your back is turned,_ he doesn’t say, because he is foul and filthy and a coward and even so).

Or

 _Say yes and beg forgiveness. Take your punishment to heart and I will wipe your slate clean; I will cradle you in my arms once more and take you into the soft depths of my bed_ (and he means it; he forgives so much and all he asks in trade is your whole heart).

It’s not a choice, not really; it never was. He burns with a blue flame and he will be the end of you, one way or another. If you take one thousand steps away from him he will be there behind you at the thousand-and-first; if you stop and whisper _Billy Lee where have you gone_ he will answer

_I am all the way inside you. I will be with you always. My seed will mark your insides like a brand; my fingertips will grip your hips so deeply you will always bear a bruise. Don’t fly from me, little bird. Don’t run. You are the architect of your own cage; why do you beat your wings against the bars?_

Billy Lee is a goddamned menace, a hedonist and a known murderer and when you beg forgiveness all he says is _turn around and grip your ankles._ So it’s to be a punishment, then. _Of course it’s a punishment, sweet thing. You really thought I’d let it slide? Three days on your trail, birdy, and you think that because you say you’re sorry—_

_—because you’re sorry—_

_—you won’t have to suffer consequences? If it were up to me I’d wrap you up all nice and warm and carry you home, but, well. You know how it is._

You _do_ know, and that’s why you hold still for him, even at the cold slice of his knife through your clothes; the rain pounds down on your bare back and the skin of your ass and he really means to have you here, doesn’t he, in this rest stop parking lot in the rain, bent over and off-balance, with the tip of his knife grazing your folds before he puts it aside and whispers low and dangerous 

_When we get home I’ll brand you, sweetness; I’ll burn my name upon your thigh and I will rub the wound with ashes._

He is dressed and he is soaking; rainwater pulls the waistband of his jeans low enough they might as well give up but somehow he stays dressed; the denim and his open fly rasp roughly at the backs of your thighs when he takes you to the root in one long and terrible thrust. 

And it isn’t kind; this is a show of ownership. This is Billy Lee and his thumb in your ass; this is Billy Lee with one hand on your hip to ratchet you back onto his cock. He kicks your legs apart and curves his spine, rutting into you like a beast; his mustache grazes the back of your neck in the instant before he bites down, his body folded nearly double with the effort of taking you standing. But he picked the position and he will carry it through. 

He doesn’t take his time; that will be for later, when you’re warm and dry and unequivocally his again. That will be for when he chains you to the bedpost, with enough length to drape your torso over the bed but not enough to sleep there. _Earn it back, little bird._ That will be for when he makes his use of you, when he has the leisure to make it slow, to hold you on the edge until you cry. 

Right now what matters is that he comes inside; what matters is that when he looks at you next he’ll see rainwater and semen slipping down your thighs. He’ll see the weak shiver and shake of your flesh and he will know it for the dance of the ecstatic. He sees you shivering and bedraggled; he sees every dirty little secret and every night you spent riding your own hand, chasing the thought of him until you found him out for who he was. Until you realized how he gripped your thoughts like jesses in his fist. 

He sees the surrender in you and he is pleased; he gives you his seed to consecrate your hole once more, to cleanse it from your own touch. _No flesh but mine inside you, now. You will warm me and please me. You will be good for me._

You will, you will, you _will._ And he is sticky on your thighs; he gives you a blanket in the passenger seat of his own car, and there are jealous grumblings from his other acolytes; they want the privilege and prestige of sitting at his right hand but they do not understand the cost. They see a hard body and a mouth like sin and they do not know the dark and writhing thing inside him. They do not know because you saw it first, and you will keep it for yourself.


End file.
